


The Price of a Princess

by StarksInTheNorth



Series: A Song of Dragons and Wolves [5]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Arranged Marriage, F/F, F/M, Multi, Plague, Politics, Post-War of the Dawn, Starklings, Stillbirth, War, betrothal, death of a child, targlings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-27
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:14:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24948265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarksInTheNorth/pseuds/StarksInTheNorth
Summary: Asha Greyjoy seeks to strengthen the relationship and alliance between the Iron Islands and Houses Stark and Targaryen - through marriage. But the price of a princess is high, higher still as the Seven Kingdoms are struck by plague, politics, and the most dangerous enemy of all - love.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen, Jon Snow/Sansa Stark, Jon Snow/Sansa Stark/Daenerys Targaryen, Sansa Stark/Daenerys Targaryen, minor Asha Greyjoy/Qarl the Maid
Series: A Song of Dragons and Wolves [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1651663
Comments: 8
Kudos: 27





	1. SANSA I (315)

**315 AC**

“We welcome you to King’s Landing, Ser Harlaw.” Sansa says from upon the Dragonglass Throne. The light from the great windows reflects off its shining black surface, illuminating her figure with beautiful, dangerous grace. “And we look forward to hear how our cousin Queen Asha fairs.”

The emissary from the Iron Islands rises from his low bow. “Thank you, Queen Sansa. I appreciate your hospitality. My queen and her consort will be glad to know how welcoming the Queens and King of Westeros are to their allies.”

Sansa smiles and indicates that he may approach. Harras Harlaw is an older, distant cousin of Asha Greyjoy and one of her greatest supporters in quelling the Ironborn uprisings when they attempted to reject the rule of their queen. Danaerys had offered support to her ally, but Asha would never have truly been able to claim the Seastone Chair backed by an army of horsemen, eunuchs, and dragons. She took it by sea, with her own fleet and cunning, and in the last many years the Ironborn had finally accepted her total rule.

Ser Harras offers up a gilded box, which Sansa’s attendant brings to her. “A gift, from the artisans of Pyke.”

She lifts the lid to find three large wrought-iron pendants shaped likethe heads of dragons, one each for Daenerys, Jon, and Sansa. “The craftsmanship is excellent, my lord.”

“I have also brought gifts for your many children, swords for the older ones and warrior figurines for the younger.”

“I am sure the princes and princesses will appreciate the gesture.” Sansa steps down from her throne. The petitioners have already been dismissed for the day so she could greet the ambassador. They will return in the morning for Daenerys’ day to ascend the Dragonglass Throne and render judgment. The king and queens take turns, hearing petitions every third day and resting on the seventh. “Would you join me for a walk in the gardens?”

“Gladly, your grace.” Ser Harras offers his arm and together they leave the Red Keep to stroll through the gardens outside. It is a perfect spring day, with cool breezes and the fresh scent of blooming flowers in the air. Together, they discuss the weather, the birth of Asha's daughter, Estrid, shortly before he set sail for King's Landing. Finally, as they wind their way up the serpentine steps towards the Red Keep once more, Ser Harras alludes to why Asha has sent him here for the coming year, instead of a less valuable advisor. 

"As you are aware, Queen Asha and Prince Consort Qarl highly value the relationship between your kingdoms." Ser Harras bows his head at Sansa. "She would like to strength that alliance."

"That is a goal that we harbor close to our hearts." Sansa says carefully. From the way the conversation has gone, she anticipates his next statement but does not appreciate it.

"She would like to do so, with a marriage pact. Between her heir, Prince Harwyn, and one of your many daughters." 

"I must discuss this with my spouses before agreeing, but I look forward to discussing further with you, my lord. Until we speak again, may your stay in our capitol be pleasant and productive." Sansa nods for him to leave her even as a roiling storm boils in her heart to think another one of her daughters might be promised away so soon after they started their family.

* * *

“Rhaella and Lyarra are too old for him, of course. And too close to the thrones besides.” Sansa muses, staring out the window at the fading sun. Across the solar, Jon has an arm draped behind Dany as they discuss Ser Harras’ proposal from Queen Asha and Prince Qarl. On the table rests the beautiful dragon pendants, but she cannot bring herself to look. A few of their children nap in the room but the oldest have been sent to the nursery or their own chambers for bed. “We have three other girls to offer him, but which would be best for this agreement?”

Jon begins, “Naerys - ”

“Has already hatched a dragon, even though she is not even two.” Daenerys interrupts and shakes her head. “It is one thing for a dragonrider to marry into a loyal house of our kingdoms. It is another to send a dragon to another nation.”

“It must be Aemma, then.” Sansa says with a sigh.

“Not even a year old and destined for queendom.” Dany murmurs. She glances at the wide cradle in the corner of the solar, where their three children sleep peacefully together. Naerys and Barristan are tucked against each other with Aemma a little bit apart. “She must never think herself lesser, even though we must remove the dragon egg from her cradle.”

“When she is older I will send to Arya for a direwolf puppy. That can keep her content and knowledgable of her heritage.” Sansa suggests, turning away from her window. She stops briefly by the cradle to rock it and smile at their children, sleeping trouble free. The twins are in stark contrast to their sister, soft, white hair compared to her dark brown curls. Naerys has her father’s eyes, while Aemma’s are blue as the sky. Beneath his closed lid, Barristan has strange, red eyes that darkened from Jon’s grey weeks after his birth. Finally, Sansa goes and rests at Dany’s side on their couch.

“I’m sure that Asha would prefer Jocelyn, considering the age difference.” Jon says, thoughtfully considering the option they can’t truly choose. “But with her nearly promised to Brynden, it’s not worth upsetting the Riverlands by revoking that agreement.”

Sansa does not like making this political arrangements with her children’s future. But it is what must be done to secure the North and South. Two kingdoms with new lines, borne from years of war and violence. The peace is best secured from marriage, she learned that from her own mother and father’s union and the example of Queen Rhaenys and Queen Alysanne. But they are being more forceful in protecting her children than her parents were with her, insisting that there is a chance to withdraw the agreement should the chosen betrothed be unfit for marrying a Stargaryen child.

“Will Asha agree to the terms of our agreement with Uncle Edmure?” Sansa asks, and takes Dany’s hand in hers. As she thinks, she traces idle patterns on her wife’s smooth, perfect skin. “I will not send any daughter of ours to the Iron Islands unless she does.”

“We will insist upon it.” Dany squeezes her hand. Their eyes meet and Sansa is overwhelmed with the warmth and love for the only woman who truly understands her own struggles. “She will not be married off until she is sixteen, and Prince Harwyn will come to live here for a year before the wedding, to know her, and so we may be sure there are no cruelties in his heart or mind.”

They may arrange marriages of political for their children. Such duty is to be expected of royalty and nobility alike. Yet she, Dany, and Jon can protect their children with everything they have.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The children at this point are ( _in italics are Sansa's biological_ ; **Dany's biological are in bold** ):
> 
>         * _Eddard - late 306_
>         * _Lyarra and Rhaella - 309_
>         * **Aemon - 310**
>         * _Theon - 311_
>         * _Baelon - 312_
>         * **Torhenn - 312**
>         * _Jocelyn - 313_
>         * **Naerys and Barristan - 314**
>         * _Aemma - 314_
> 

> 
> Before anyone brings up the "Dany has 4 and Sansa has 7" things, please be quiet. This ficlet takes place over several years, and by the end Sansa has given birth to 14 and Dany to 11. Eventually, I'll probably make an appendix describing the future of House Stargaryen and friends, but first I want to finish telling the rest of these stories. I'm not sure if I'll be returning to the main part for a while cause I'm still not emotionally prepared to deal with all the comments, but we shall see. At least we can have cute "omg how many children will they unrealistically have" for a little while.
> 
> Let me know what you think, then come hangout on [tumblr](https://www.starksinthenorth.tumblr.com) to talk about Jonsa, Jonerys, Daensa, OT3, ASOIAF, and GOT. I also take prompts in my [ask box](https://www.starksinthenorth.tumblr.com/ask/).


	2. DAENERYS I (316)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tragedy strikes the Red Keep.

**316 AC**

Tragedy sweeps King’s Landing as sickness claims one in four of the children in the city at winter’s zenith.

With great performance and feasting, Daenerys’ family observes the ten-year anniversary of its triumph over the White Walkers and the glory of the Long Night’s end. The celebration lasts through the night until the next dawn. Their parents barely notice when Rhaella and Aemon both complain of fever and retire early, joined by Sansa's ward Lyessa. But then a servant finds Theon vomiting on the serpentine steps and a nursemaid comes running to say that Aemma, their sweetest, youngest child, had broken out in thick sweats. By the time they rushed into the nursery, Barristan had caught the fever too.

Their merry court sobers quickly, as families are locked in their chambers, red marks are painted on the doors of those with sick children, and Queen Sansa spirits their healthy children off to Dragonstone. 

“Take care them.” Sansa demands of Dany, balancing Jocelyn on one hip and holding Lyarra close with the other. Lyarra screamed to be separated from her twin, tugging and pulling to return to the Red Keep, while Baelon and Torhenn cling tight to each other with their little hands. “Promise me, you won’t leave their sides.”

“I promise. I won’t leave them alone until they’re healthy again.” Daenerys swears, staring at the group as they trails their other mother and Missandei and her children down the dock. Eddard guides Naerys with a careful, measured grip, the paragon of a prince for his younger siblings even as his own fear for the others’ lives shines in his eyes. The decision to send them away is heart-wrenching, but necessary. Someone needs to care for the children, and they will be safer away from the city’s grime and disease. Far away on Dragonstone, some of them might survive. Left here, all their children could perish. Parting is a desperate sorrow, but the only way to ensure some of their survival.

Jon takes command of the castle in that way of his, bringing questions to Daenerys and relying on her experience taming the Pale Mare in Meereen. But she holds true to her promise, staying and sleeping in the nursery for four days until Rhaella wakes from her deep, troubled sleep and Lyessa opens her eyes and asks for tea. Sighing with relief as the maester declares that Theon only suffered a bout of indigestion caused by rotten food. Fighting her son as he refuses to leave the nursery and stays beg the gods at his siblings’ bedsides, as first Rhaella wakes up and the day after, Aemon.

They call out for their father and mothers in their sleep, batting at nonexistent ghosts and screaming in Valyrian and Westerosi. Barristan scares her the most, screaming out in a wordless rage before his throat went raw and he could only whimper. But as the others rise from their sleep one-by-one, Aemma fights on.

“Protect them, and I will always be good. I will never be bad again. Never, ever, ever.” Theon whispers, stirring Dany from her troubled sleep. Despite the cold of winter, her son has slipped from his bed with nothing but his sleeping shirt to kneel at the foot of Aemma’s cradle.

Dany rises from her own place of rest, the downy mattress Jon carried in himself, where he rests his own head, when he sleeps at all. “What do you pray for, dōna mēre?”

“I’m praying to the new gods. I went to the godswood earlier with father, to pray to the old.” Theon says emphatically. Dany studies his face, the dancing grey eyes all his father but the seriousness and determination all hers. He has Sansa’s cheekbones and pretty nose and silver Valyrian hair. This boy is all theirs, ready to take on all the gods to save his little brother and sister.

“Let me help you.” Dany says, kneeling besides him and taking his little hands in hers. “Will you guide me in the prayers?”

Theon squeeze Dany’s hands and bows his forehead, saying the words of his old prayer slowly. “Protect them, please. Mother, watch over my brother and sister. Warrior, give them the strength to fight this sickness. Father, keep them safe . . .”

In desperation on the seventh day, as Barristan finally cracks his eyes and lets her spoon hot broth down his throat, Jon brings in a dragon egg and sets it at Aemma’s side. He stands with Daenerys, clutching her hands. The girl turns away, the most she’s moved in days. Whenever the purple-and-gold egg is brought near her, she rejects it.

“Would she be healthier, if she had it for the last year?” Dany asks with quiet words. What she means is: _did I do this?_

Jon shakes his head, understanding entirely, and pulls Dany into his arms. His kiss against her forehead is hard, a comforting anchor in this sea of misery. “It is not your fault. Barristan has an unhatched egg and struggled. Rhaella has a dragon and yet she fell sick. I do not blame you. No one does.”

“But what if - ” She stops herself, for fear of bringing the Stranger into the room. Dany does not believe much in the Faith’s gods, but perhaps she should have prayed harder. With a shudder, Dany lets out a sob and buries her head in Jon’s strong chest.

" _Never_ , _never_ , _never_ think that." Jon assures her, strong grip holding her up when she wants to fall. "Your children love you, Sansa loves you, I love you. And we will never think that. I know your heart, Daenerys, and it is good and true and pure. And Aemma is a fighter, like her mothers. She will survive this."

Princess Aemma Stargaryen breaths her last after twelve days struggling to break her fever. Shuddering and shivering even as the heat in her body burned like dragon fire, Aemma gasps for air that will not fill her lungs. But Dany can do nothing as she watches her daughter die.

So quickly is the turn in her health that the maester’s assistant does not even have time to fetch the king and bring him to their daughter’s bedside.

Jon finds her bent over besides the little bed, her hands stroking Aemma’s dark hair with Theon’s head in her lap. Her cheeks are stained with saltwater streaks and Theon’s tears flow freely. His sobs are muffled by his mother’s linen skirts.

Dany looks at Jon with red-ringed eyes. She bites her trembling lip as he falls to his knees besides them, embracing Theon from behind and covering Dany’s hand with his own.

“She was so young . . .” His voice quivers as he looks at Aemma and her glassy blue eyes. “So full of life.”

Dany swallows. She’s lost a child before, but not like this. Rhaego was just a dream, a vision. And the other child . . . she barely dared to dream of names. But Aemma was sweet and silly, shy with the court but full of laughter with their family. And now she is gone. She presses a kiss to Jon’s forehead, curling into the warmth and strength of his side.

His hands bunch in the fabric of her desk as his head buries in his shoulder. He never takes his eyes off Aemma. Dany thinks of their healthy children on Dragonstone, who will never make faces at their youngest sibling ever again. The hole in her heart is torn wide open by this loss, but at least she knows what it is like to lose the ones you love. Her mother died before she could know her, her father and brother and niece and nephew too. But her children have never had anything but happiness in their lives; the worst thing to happen to them is no dessert after naughty behavior.

“How will we tell the children?” Dany asks, her voice cracking and her heart breaking twice over. “How will we tell Sansa?” Sansa was the first she told about her the babe she lost, who held her as she cried even months after, when they both feared to lose Jon on the battlefield.

Jon pulls them tighter against his chest as a loud sob wracks Theon’s body. “I don’t know. I just don’t know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The children at this point are ( _in italics are Sansa's biological_ ; **Dany's biological are in bold** ):
> 
>         * _Eddard - late 306_
>         * _Lyarra and Rhaella - 309_
>         * **Aemon - 310**
>         * _Theon - 311_
>         * _Baelon - 312_
>         * **Torhenn - 312**
>         * _Jocelyn - 313_
>         * **Naerys and Barristan - 314**
>         * _Aemma - 314 - 316_
> 

> 
> Let me know what you think, then come hangout on [tumblr](https://www.starksinthenorth.tumblr.com) to talk about Jonsa, Jonerys, Daensa, OT3, ASOIAF, and GOT. I also take prompts in my [ask box](https://www.starksinthenorth.tumblr.com/ask/).


	3. EDDARD I (316)

**EDDARD I**

Mother was not supposed to have the child until late spring. But his newest sibling was coming now, not later.

Her screams cut through the cold, icy darkness at Dragonstone and last well into the night. There is no time to fetch a midwife, and Eddard waits in the hallway surrounded by his younger siblings and wondering if his mother or her babe will be next to die.

The news came so suddenly that she did not have time to explain to the young ones. He does not know how to tell them that Aemma is dead. He does not know how to be for them when his own hands are shaking.

Another scream splits the air. Naerys stares up from besides him with pensive grey eyes, despite being barely two-years-old. In her lap, her nameless green-and-black dragonling chirps in concern and coils its neck around her hand. “Is Mother going to die?”

“The queen will be fine, sweetling.” Joanna Lannister murmurs, pulling Naerys into her lap. Candles in the dragon-shaped sconces makes her hair shine gold, beauty even in this darkness. She strokes Naerys’ silver hair and presses a kiss against her forehead. Even as the dragon puffs smoke in Naerys’ lap, Joanna is unafraid and focuses on comforting the little princess.

“And the babe?” Lyarra asks. “It’s come too soon.”

Lyarra may have none of Rhaella’s quick intelligence and aged wisdom, but even she knows this. Hearing Lyarra’s words, little Jocelyn whimpers and curls into Eddard’s side. “I don’t want momma to die.”

Joanna meets Eddard’s gaze over his sisters’ little heads. Of all them here, she is the only one he told about Aemma’s passing. The only one who he trusts to not break, even as tears sparkle in her emerald eyes.She speaks words of encouragement and care to Naerys and takes Lyarra’s hands in her own. Lyarra, normally quick to judge Joanna for her mother’s actions, just sets her hand on Naerys’ back.

Eddard rises from his seat, lifting Jocelyn up with him. He will be king of half Westeros someday. How can he lead three kingdoms, if he cannot lead his own family?

Turning to one of the pale-faced servants lurking in the shadows, Eddard tries to make his voice as commanding as possible. “Please bring up some food from the kitchens, meat, cheese, some bread, and a large pot of calming tea.” He looks around the hall, to where Torhenn and Baelon are curled together on the ground with Eddard’s own cloak over their forms. Besides them, Mossador and Marselen Rykker sleep under Lyarra and Joanna’s cloaks. Their mother assists the castle’s young, foolish maester in guiding Mother through the birth. Lady Missandei is likely more helpful than the man, who nearly fainted when he heard that Mother’s water had come. “And ask some of the men-at-arms to carry up a few braziers, pillows, and blankets to keep my siblings warm.”

The servant nods before he scurries off to do as he is bid. Jocelyn tightens her grip on his leg and he smooths a hand over her coppery braids, plaited to look like _Muña_ ’s favorite style. She looks up at him with true fear and tears in her eyes, not the theatrical glances she pretends when trying to get his or their father’s attention. Eddard lifts her up and holds her close. “It’s alright, little one. Lay down with the boys and try to sleep. We can only wait.”

“I don’t want to wait. I want Mother and Father and _Muña._ ” Jocelyn buries her head against his shoulder, hiding her sniffs and near-sobs. “And Barristan and Rhaella and Aemon and Theon and Aemma.”

“I know, Joss. I know.” He settles her next to Baelon and Torhenn, pulling the cloak over her body. Torhenn’s eyes blink open sleepily. Seeing Jocelyn, he opens up his arm so she can snuggle in against him. “The knights will protect you, princess.”

Briefly, a shrill cry pierces the night before suddenly stopping. He whips his head around to stare at the door. _What was that noise? Why is Mother still screaming?_

Finally, when no one emerges with news, Eddard returns to Joanna’s side, watching as she carefully rocks Naerys in her arms. The nursemaid should be here to help with the youngest Stargaryen child, but she too waits upon their lady mother, called in after the eighth hour of the painful, long birth.

When the servants bring in a small trestle bench and line it with plates of food, Lyarra takes Eddard’s hand in hers and guides him to it. He glances back at Joanna, but she just smiles softly. “Go on, and bring me back some of the braided bread.”

He follows Lyarra’s tug as she drags him to the makeshift-table.

Of all his sisters, Lyarra of most has the making of a queen. Demanding and unyielding, she forced Aemon to teach her sword fighting after his first lesson and quickly smacked him into the ground. Mother nearly had a heart attack when she heard why Lyarra had left her sewing lessons but the princess soon got her way. Eddard knows the whispers, that he will take her or Rhaella to wife and make them his queen. That Aemon will marry the other twin to be queen of his kingdoms. But this is just his little sister, and knowing the pain of her parents’ incestuous love has brought to his Joanna, how could he ever marry her?

“Which of our siblings is dead?” Lyarra whispers with urgency, once they are alone besides the table.

Eddard furrows his brow and glances over at Joanna, hurt writ clear on his face. _She promised not to tell_. 

“It wasn’t her, you fool.” Lyarra smacks his arm. Two years younger, many inches shorter, and it seems a bit brighter than he gives her credit for. “Why else would Mother be so distraught? Her births with Baelon, Joss, and Aemma were as quick as remembering the Mother’s Hymn.”

Her chin quivers. Lyarra, fierce, bold Lyarra, is scared. Eddard tries to pull her into an embrace, but his sister shoves him away. “Who was it?”

Eddard hangs his head. “The rest have recovered, but Aemma’s gone.”

Lyarra blinks in shock. Tears well in her eyes. “No wonder you haven’t told us. She’s the baby.” Glancing back at Joanna, Lyarra brushes away a tear as it streams down her face. “Now Naerys is.”

Eddard does not use the energy to respond that technically, it’s Barristan. They all know that their strange, red-eyed brother has already grown up faster than his older twin. Instead, he takes Lyarra’s hand and squeezes gently, thinking of Aemma’s smile, playing hide-and-find with his hands as she giggled gently in her cradle. Aemma, who loved Valyrian whispers from the moment she was born, staring in fascination whenever _Muña_ lifted her and sang in gentle, soft words. Her second birthday is far away and she will never reach it. Neither will she grow up to become Queen Consort of the Iron Islands, as their parents announced she would do just a few long months ago.

The door to Mother’s chamber bursts open, and he realizes that the screaming has stopped. Bleary-eyed, Eddard just barely remembers when Aemon was born here in this same room. _Muña_ was alone then, too, but Mother and Father caeme in. But there are no ghostly parents running down the hall to be by her side this time.

Missandei stands in the doorway, her curly brown hair pulled back from her sweaty forehead in a blue-and-white headband embroidered with the war hammers of House Rykker. The sleeping children all awoke at the loud noise, and her two boys throw back their blankets to run to her side. Marselen buries his face in her skirts, and Mossador inspects her carefully. “Is Queen Sansa alright?”

She pulls her boys in close and nods. “Prince Eddard, Princess Lyarra, would you like to meet your new brother? It should only be a few children at once, to give your mother and the baby some space.”

Lyarra does not let go of Eddard’s hands as they carefully cross the room. Naerys pulls away from Joanna, runs across the hall, and takes Eddard’s her hand. Her dragon hovers on her shoulder, a protective guard always. Eddard wishes that Bael was there with him, but with his true fire power and growing size he cannot fit in even in the first castle of the dragon lords.

“I want to come too.” She whispers. Eddard does not fight. He won’t on this.

Inside the dark chamber, the maester wrings his hands over a cloth-wrapped bundle on the table while their lady mother nurses the babe. From the doorway, Eddard can see the new prince’s soft tufts of red hair. He also knows immediately that his brother is too small to have cause all that pain for Mother.

“Mother . . .” He steps close. He is a prince, he can be strong. For her, for Lyarra and Joss who both look to him for comfort and example. “What have you named our brother?”

“Benjen, for my uncle who died beyond the wall saving your father.” Mother says, softly. “Come closer, he won’t bite and neither will I.”

Benjen is pale, paler than _Muna_ in the dead of winter, and so small. He wasn’t supposed to come for three months. _Will he die, too?_

Mother pulls him back from her breast and covers herself. Eddard helps Naerys climb onto the bed and then Lyarra. The little prince opens his sleepy eyelid to stare at them, before blinking shut his grey eyes again and curling into Mother’s arms.

“He’s so little.” Naerys whispers, as her dragon chirps on her shoulder. She reaches up to pet his neck and coo gently. “Will he be able to fly?”

“I don’t know, sweetling. Like all of you, only time will tell if an egg will hatch.” Mother says. “But for now, we can be happy that he is alive and pray to thank the gods for that blessing.”

Eddard watches as her gaze turns away from Benjen and even her other children to linger on the maester and the bundle on the table. Eddard squints, taking in the plain, splotchy grey cloth and the small size of the strange bundle. But as he studies it and Mother sets a gentle hand upon his shoulder, he realizes that the dark splotches aren’t from the pattern of the fabric and the bundle is the same size as his new brother.

Because even as she was delivered of a healthy prince, Mother has lost a second child tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The children at this point are ( _in italics are Sansa's biological_ ; **Dany's biological are in bold** ):
> 
>         * _Eddard - late 306_
>         * _Lyarra and Rhaella - 309_
>         * **Aemon - 310**
>         * _Theon - 311_
>         * _Baelon - 312_
>         * **Torhenn - 312**
>         * _Jocelyn - 313_
>         * **Naerys and Barristan - 314**
>         * _Aemma - 314 - 316_
>         * _Benjen and Catelyn (stillborn) - 316_
> 

> 
> Let me know what you think, then come hangout on [tumblr](https://www.starksinthenorth.tumblr.com) to talk about Jonsa, Jonerys, Daensa, OT3, ASOIAF, and GOT. I also take prompts in my [ask box](https://www.starksinthenorth.tumblr.com/ask/).


	4. LYARRA I (316 AC)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lyarra thinks about her siblings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's HARD getting into the head of a six or seven year old girl. Hopefully this matches up, but I'm pretty sure she's a bit more brooding than I was going for. It's fine, though - she gets it from her dad ;)

**316 A.C.**

By early morning, both of her new siblings are burning.

The little red-haired girl, who Mother named Catelyn for her own dead mother, is lit aflame by the dragons that came with the family to Dragonstone: Eddard’s Bael, Lyarra’s Joramun, and Naerys’ not-yet-named hatchling. The flames burn bright in the courtyard, going up, up, _up_ until the little bundle of baby is no more.

Mother is steely-eyed as she gathers her dead daughter’s ashes with a little broom. Lyarra wonders if she used up all her tears during the birth. But even then, she never heard Mother cry. Just screaming and screaming for hours.

Mother seems like someone who would cry, all soft words and delicate sewing and sweet words with her children. But when she sits the Dragonglass Throne, Mother becomes someone else entirely. Her face a painted porcelain plate that as she hides her true emotions, her hands hard as ivory as she reigns justice, her spine straight and hard as sword as she renders judgement.

If Mother cried, it was in the before. Before she could love both Father and _Muna_ , before Lyarra and Rhaella were taken from her, before the war to end war and the liberation of the North. She doesn’t cry anymore.

Lyarra stands steady at Mother’s side, holding the undecorated box as Mother sets in Catelyn’s ashes. Mother closes the lid softly and whispers a little prayer in Valyrian. Or at least, Lyarra thinks she whispers because her lips are moving but Lyarra can’t hear the words. And then Mother takes her other, living children inside, with Naerys and Joss tucked sleepily in her arms and leaves them in the nursery to go back to her own room.

Her room, where the little red-haired boy, her brother Benjen, burns with fever. The same sickness that killed Aemma and sent them running from the mainland has somehow come to their island to kill another baby.

Mother is pale and weak herself, but she refuses to sleep until Benjen’s fever disappears.

“A dragon egg could save him.” Eddard whispers to Lyarra, when the babies have all gone to sleep. Dragonstone is a smaller castle than the Red Keep, or Winterfell, the summer castle, dark and cold and drafty, and the only Barristan seems to like it here.Perhaps because the servants at Dragonstone are mostly refugees who followed _Muna_ from the east and stare less at the red-eyed child.

Lyarra thinks they’re much too mature for the nursery, since both her and Eddard are old enough for Father to teach them to use a sword and for _Muna_ to teach them about dragons. But Mother still insists they stay in here with the little ones, saying their siblings need their protection and perhaps the warmth of their bodies. Aunt Missy sleeps in a bed in the little study off the solar to keep an eye all the royal children, and her own.

“What do you mean?” Lyarra’s eyebrows scrunch up in a dark knot. “How could a dragon save him?” Saying her brother’s name feels strange, like she’s tempting the Stranger, so Lyarra just calls him _him_ or _the baby_.

“Dragonborn Valyrians have better health when they have a dragon, or even just their own eggs.” Eddard shrugs, like this is something Lyarra should know already. She scowls at him. “Rhaella told me about it. But we don’t have any extra eggs to put in his cradle.”

Lyarra stares deep into the fire. The only eggs they have on Dragonstones are already in her siblings’ cradles, tucked in with the twins. No one thought Mother would be giving birth, so if there even are any extra eggs, they’re in the Nest outside King’s Landing. But Rhaegal and Drogon haven’t had a clutch in over a year. Father jokes that his wives are having children too fast to keep up with dragon production, whatever that means.

She leans her head on Eddard’s shoulder and wraps her arms around her body. They fight a lot, but he’s her favorite sibling. Except for Rhaella, of course, but a twin is so much herself it barely counts. And Aemon, too, but Aemon’s different than their siblings, never fighting with her, sparring and laughing together until their bellies hurt, and never treating her like less because she’s a girl and always sneaking her extra stuffed mushrooms at feasts.

Eddard treats her like a little sister, always caring and careful and watchful and wise. He’s her protector, has been her protector, ever since the bad men took her and Rhaella. Lyarra can rely on Eddard whenever she doesn’t want to be strong for the others. And sometimes, she’s pretty sure she’s his favorite, too, no matter how many times she hides his fancy Valyrian steel dagger.

“Eddie? Lya?” A sleepy, childish voice asks. Normally the twins’ nicknames annoy her, but Lyarra is too sad to be annoyed tonight. She just smiles as Baelon comes up to them, rubbing his eyes and dragging his red blanket behind him. “I wanna give my egg to Benjy.”

“That’s your egg, my little knight.” Lyarra says softly. What would even happen, if another rider hatched his egg? They really didn’t know much about dragons, since _Muna_ was the first dragonrider in many years. _Muna_ thought that the dragons were both boys, until they found a clutch of eggs in Drogon’s nest after a visit to Winterfell.

“A knight doesn’t need a dragon. A knight needs a horse.” He crosses his arms. Lyarra pulls her little brother in close, pushing his silver hair back from his face and pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Now, little knight, let’s get you back to bed.”

Taking one hand as Eddard takes the other, she guides Baelon back to the little bed he shares with Torhenn. Almost immediately after settling in besides his brother, Baelon falls quietly back asleep. _Twins from different wombs_ , her father calls the boys. Baelon was born of Mother and Torhenn of _Muna_ , but they are as close as she is with Rhaella. Sometimes closer. She’s never seen them fight or bicker like she does with her twin.

Baelon was born five moons before Torhenn, and named Baelon Stark in the tradition established for their older siblings, who all had the last names of their mother. Torhenn’s birth was long and painful for _Muna_. Like little Benjen now, Torhenn did not open his eyes after leaving her womb. But there was one different, for Baelon’s eyes would not close and he stayed awake, silent as a ghost, as their brother’s cries echoed across the keep.

Torhenn’s fever like fire kept him up all night and _Muna_ never left his side as he screamed for six days and nights, not heeding the advice of the maesters who said she needed rest herself. The seventh night of a sickness was known to be the worst, for the seventh night belonged to the stranger.The strain of the birth had been much, but she did not want to sleep as her son died. Out of desperation, _Muna_ brazenly removed Baelon from his own cradle in the nursery and set him at Torhenn’s side.

 _Muna_ ’s actions saved Torhenn, and the boys were forever at each other’s sides from that day forward. The men and women of the royal household jokingly called them the Stargaryen twins, and it stuck so much that their parents officially named them Baelon and Torhenn Stargaryen. The boys did not respond to anything else, anyway. And all the later children were named that way as well, including sickly Benjen Stargaryen.

“We should go to sleep. Mother will need us in the morning.” Eddard says, drawing her from her reverie. Lyarra sighs. She loves Eddard dearly, but right now she wantsRhaella or Aemon. Her elder brother is sometimes not good at comfort for her. He tries so hard to be strong for all of them, and she must be strong for him. But her twin would hold her hand and stroke her hair, telling stories of Aemma’s joy and light until they were both laughing through their tears. And Aemon . . . he would whisper gentle words and rub circles on her fingers. He would hold her close, all of her, keeping her in his arms until all the bad in the world slipped away like a dream.

She thought of them, of seeing them again, of running through the keep or the godswood hand-in-hand with Rhaella as Aemon chased after, as her eyes fluttered shut and she drifted into a sleep. So caught up in her thoughts was she that she did not notice as a child rose up from its bed and tiptoed out of the nursery without a trace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think, then come hangout on [tumblr](https://www.starksinthenorth.tumblr.com) to talk about Jonsa, Jonerys, Daensa, OT3, ASOIAF, and GOT. I also take prompts in my [ask box](https://www.starksinthenorth.tumblr.com/ask/).


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